Worst. Mother. Ever.

I am officially the worst mother of the year. The rest of you can rest easily because I have taken the title for you. (You should probably rest easy for the entire time I am a parent – I calculate that will end… at my death. There ya go – free pass for life!!)

It all started when I spent the day trying to figure out a ton of math problems for work. This wouldn’t be so bad except that over the course of a week I seem to have forgotten math. Totally. As in – I’m not even certain that 2+2=5. That’s right, right?? It appears that way these days.

I have spent the week with a screaming two year old and a six year old that gets so mad at him that she screams at the top of her lungs, slams her door, and continues to yell. We have a rule against yelling in the house, which she clearly knows about, because the rules are posted on the fridge, but she chose to scream anyway. So, she got herself grounded (not that she was going anywhere anyway, but the point was made, which is all I ask for anymore).  

My brain is fried, to say the least.

Today I forgot about a parent teacher conference. Lovely.  I feel so bad about it. When I realized it I almost cried. I have felt like such an inadequate parent this year. I’m not sure if it is because I am projecting my own horrible first grade experiences on to the teachers this year or what. I am beginning to think that first grade teachers are all the same (no offense to first grade teachers everywhere, but I had a really bad experience with mine).

I say this to Yaya - “I feel as if I am failing 1^st grade all over again!”

She tells me, “I am going to write a short story about it.”

“About what?” I ask.

“You failing first grade. It will be just a short story, with a short story line.”

I think about this for a moment as I pull into the little guy’s school parking lot.

I put the car into park in the parking spot and turn around to say to her, “I didn’t fail first grade, for the record.”

Yaya think about this for a moment and then says, “Hmm. It will make a good story anyway.”

I am officially screwed and I don’t even know what excuse to use on her teachers. If all else fails, blame Brian. ;o)

Then we get home. I think everything is going ok (after I call Brian and vent about my inadequacies at parenting, obviously).

Little guy was playing in the yard. Not quite happily but he was enjoying the snow. Yaya pops her head out the door all bundled up like she has places to go and people to see. She wants to go to the neighbors. I tell her ‘No, it’s dinner time as soon as I cook the pizza.” She throws me a look of absolute hatred and slams the door.

I usher LG in a few minutes later and ask where Yaya is. She is oh-so-slowly peeling off her winter gear and crying. “You are the Worst. Mother. Ever,” she screams as she runs to her room. I shake my head and commence making dinner.

Dinner goes smoothly and everyone is happy and eats pretty much everything on their plates. (A far cry from what transpired just 14 minutes before) Score for me!

I go to put the little guy to bed and realize I have forgotten his blanky at preschool. Not Good. I have been back and forth to his room for the better part of two hours and he still refuses to sleep. I am exhausted due to the stairs. Why didn’t I buy a ranch house?? I am kicking myself for losing the original Blanky a few weeks ago. Dang – to have two Blankies right now!!

Wait… All is quiet upstairs… Maybe they have gone to sleep! I’ll check in a bit. That silence is golden!

How Sweet They Are

It is not any surprise if you have read any of the past posts on this thing that K (F calls her YaYa, so that’s what she’ll be from now on) and I have been having a lot of conflicts. Every once in a while she comes up with something that makes me re-evaluate things.

I picked her up from school the other day and we stayed after a few minutes so the kids could play on the playground equipment. They LOVE to do that, as I’m sure most kids do. I was tired and so I sat down on the bench to watch.  YaYa came over and sat down next to me. We were sitting in silence until she looked around and saw a little girl in a wheelchair.

“Do you see that girl in the wheelchair?” she asked me. I braced myself, wondering what she was going to ask.

I responded with, “Yup.”

“Do you see that lady with her?” I nodded. “That’s her Mommy.”

“Oh, really?” I knew this already because I’d seen them at the school before. The little girl is a new Kindergartener.

“That girl is very lucky.” My curiosity was immediately piqued.

“Why is that?” I asked, wondering what in the heck she was going to say.

“She’s lucky because her Mommy gets to stay with her all day long at school. I wish you could stay all day long with me at school.”

Wow, I thought. I was speechless. I guess I thought she really did hate me all this time. I will hear her in her room, stomping about, yelling that she hates me; she hates my rules; she hates everything else about this house, but I guess it’s just a way for her to relieve stress. I don’t stop her. I know you have to get it out somehow. She wowed me with her ability to think beyond someone's physical characteristics. 

She really is a sweet, caring, kind person. I know that. I do. I know there are worse children out there. When we are in the thick of it and she is testing my control and I have to force her to follow my rules it’s easy to forget that we do need each other. YaYa is a much better arguer than I will ever be and I just want to give in and let her run the show, but I know I can’t. I know that I need to stay firm with the rules but it really hurts when I have to punish her. I don’t like to see her sad. I don’t like it when she yells at me.

YaYa says a lot of really mean things to me when she is mad. I try not to take it personally and I try to understand she is just testing the waters and trying to figure out her place in life. The next time we have a blow-up I will only have to remember this conversation and know that she doesn’t, in her heart, think I am ruining her life and that she really hates me.  I think that will be enough. (for now)